


L is for Lipstick

by kuriadalmatia



Series: Alphabet Meme Series [11]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Established Relationship, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-17
Updated: 2012-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-31 08:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/341897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuriadalmatia/pseuds/kuriadalmatia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aaron finds a cache of lipstick-imprinted business cards tucked away in Spencer's desk. He doesn't react well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	L is for Lipstick

**Author's Note:**

> ARCHIVING: my LJ, DW, FFNet and AO3... anyone else? Please ask first.
> 
> COMMENTS: Part of the The Great A-Z Multifandom Drabbling Meme. Unbetaed.
> 
> Feedback always welcome.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.

/***/

Aaron tries not to "go there." He really does, but there's always that nagging voice of insecurity leftover from his adolescent days when he was told "no one would want something as worthless as you" on a regular basis. It's that little voice that _counts_ the number of business cards Spencer has tucked away in his desk drawer in his apartment.

Business cards with lipstick imprints on the backs of them.

Twenty-seven in all. No two cards are from the same business, only three from the same city. Even more alarming ( _intriguing_ ) is the fact that all had different shades lipstick yet the same imprint.

All stored in a single, plain white envelope with no names, addresses, postmarks or dates.

 _Don't panic_.

 _There has to be a story behind them. Maybe a bet with Morgan on who could collect the most?_ But Morgan isn't that shallow, no matter what image the guy tries to play off.

_And the lipstick marks were all made by the same person._

Upon further inspection, Aaron realizes that all the businesses are restaurants. Four are Thai, seven are Italian, two are wine bars, one is Ethiopian, one Lebanese, two are Indian, four are Continental French, one is Pan-Asian, one is new American, one is fusion, one is Soul Food, and two are 'retro' diners.

One name jumps out at Aaron—Melba's Little Kitchen in Memphis—and he immediately recalls a case a year ago there…Day Two of the investigation and _Spencer_ suggesting the restaurant. He remembers it because Spencer rarely recommends any place to eat; Rossi and Prentiss usually duke it out over cuisine because they are more selective.

Melba's Little Kitchen was obviously recommended by Miss Lipstick.

Aaron flips through the cards again, pausing on the cities that they have had cases in recent months. The restaurant names are unique enough that he starts _remembering_ that yes, in fact, the Team has dined at several of them.

Spencer clearly values Miss Lipstick's opinion enough to risk the culinary snobbery of two picky eaters who insist they are not "picky eaters."

The ruby anger that surges through Aaron is colored with emerald jealousy. It's old and it's familiar and it's _comfortable_ even if the jagged edges rip open scars that have never faded. It's raw and it's warm and it's vibrant and it's _delicious_ although it has no right to be. He shouldn't savor this.

He knows better.

Yet Aaron Hotchner has never been really good at believing that he deserves something he works so far for. When he gets what he wants, he digs in and holds on, always waiting for it to be taken from him.

He's been down this road before. His father cheated profusely on his mother. And then with Haley…

"Did you find the box of envelopes?"

Aaron whirls around, cards still in hand, and faces his…he faces _Reid_. Reid meets his gaze and then glances down to what Aaron is holding. Aaron sets his shoulders. He fixes the man with a penetrating stare, the one that gets weak, pathetic men to blubber out a confession from the sheer force of his look.

But jealousy and rage make Aaron forget that the man standing before him, who sent him to the desk to look for envelopes in the first place, is anything but weak or pathetic.

There's no defiance in the man's posture. He doesn't lift his chin or settle his hands on his hips or tap his foot. He doesn't point accusingly. His voice is calm, strong and sure. "When Lila Archer goes on promotional tours for her show, she sends me the cards of the restaurants that she likes in that city."

Lila Archer. The case in Los Angeles six years ago. Young, blonde. Stalking victim. Smooth tanned skin, perky little breasts, taut ass. An actress, although the most the girl did was bounce around on a fake beach in a tiny, glittery bikini. Young. Nubile. Unscarred.

The girl who pulled _his_ Spencer into a swimming pool. The girl who kissed _his_ Spencer in said swimming pool. The girl who caused _his_ Spencer to be on the front page of a tabloid.

The girl who obviously still contacts—covets— _she_ _covets_ _his_ _Spencer_.

Spencer's eyebrow hitches slightly and then he takes a step closer. Aaron waits, because in his experience, adulterers always stammer out explanations that include denials that they're doing anything wrong. Then, Aaron is blamed for their affairs. Yet before Aaron can snarl out an accusation, Spencer closes the distance between them.

He takes the cards from Aaron's hand and sets them on the desk. Spencer then fishes through the drawer and pulls out the box of envelopes. He places that in Aaron's hands, turns and walks back to the kitchen.

It's not supposed to happen this way. It's not supposed to _not_ end in a fight.

It's supposed to end with Aaron being at fault for everything.

Not like this. Definitely not like this.

He stands there for the longest time, lost in the swirl of confused thoughts and feelings. The burn of rage flees from Aaron's bones replaced by glacial cold. All of this happens to the symphony of dishes and glasses clinking from the kitchen.

Something breaks. He's not sure what is and the crash isn't that loud. Neither is the muttered swearing.

He stumbles towards the kitchen, the box falling to the floor. He finds Spencer standing at the sink with a broken drinking glass in one hand, crimson coating his knuckles. Spencer sets the glass on the counter, his hand resting on the pale Formica. Blood pools around his pinkie.

"In the top left drawer, there are letters from Nathan Harris. He writes me once a week. Next to those letters are ones from Austin and Jordan Norris. There are a few postcards from Ethan." Spencer looks over his shoulder. "I have more. You're more than welcome to read them." He sighs. "People write to me, Aaron, just like the write to you. Yes, Lila's method of communication is unorthodox," he shrugs but there is no apology in his tone, "but it's only because I mentioned Austin sent me my business card with a lipstick mark on the back. Lila thought it would be funny if she did it, too." He pauses. "Is there anything else you want to know?"

Aaron stares, not at Spencer's face, but at the blood on the man's hands and the counter. He's lightheaded. Dizzy. Spencer's tone is not confessional but matter-of-fact. Blunt. Unashamed. Aaron's belly tightens and aches. He blurts, "You're bleeding," which is quite obvious and he's sure that Spencer knows it, but those are the only words that his brain is allowing him to say.

"I realize that, Aaron, but you didn't answer my question." Spencer releases his grip on the glass, grabs a wad of paper towels with his uninjured hand, presses the towels to his wound, and turns. "Is there anything else you want to know?"

Questions swirl in his mind as his tongue presses against his teeth. He wants to know. He wants to interrogate. It's instinct. It's habit. He's done this before. He's had this confrontation more than once.

But this is different. Spencer _tells_ him about the other letters. _Tells_ him about potential rivals.

Aaron doesn't understand.

It's why he can't talk.

"I understand why you jumped to the conclusion you did." Spencer's voice is soft. "I'm not going to argue with you about this. Lila and I are friends and, yes, six years ago, I did have a crush on her. But that was six years ago, before you and I became involved. I love you, Aaron. You need to believe that." He holds up the blood streaked towel. "I need to get a bandage."

For whatever reason, Spencer's last statement jolts Aaron into action. He yanks open the drawer beside him and rummages around until he finds the antibiotic ointment and the bandages. He reaches for Spencer's injured hand and tugs it forward; it takes Spencer a few seconds to relax and then tilt his hand so that Aaron can see the wound better. It has stopped bleeding and the gash is about a half-inch long.

He dresses the cut in silence, careful and gentle as he applies the bandage. Aaron doesn't release Spencer's hand when he's done. Instead, he holds it lightly between his own and whispers, "I'm sorry."

He's rewarded with a soft kiss to his temple. "There's nothing to forgive."

/***/


End file.
